"The best man in the world," repeated Sylvia Morgan, softly.

"And yet there are other good men," said Mrs. Grayson, quietly. "One
good man does not exclude the existence of another."

Sylvia looked up at her, but she failed to take her meaning. Her quiet
aunt sometimes spoke in parables, and waited for events to disclose her
meaning.

Mrs. Grayson and Miss Morgan were to leave for the West the next
afternoon, and shortly before their departure Harley came to tell them a
temporary good-bye. Sylvia and he chanced to be alone for a little
while, and she genuinely lamented her departure--they had become franker
friends in these later days.

"I do not see why women cannot go through a political campaign from
beginning to end," she said; "I'm sure we can help Uncle James, and
there will be, too, so many interesting things to see. It will be like a
war without the wounds and death. I don't want to miss any of it."

"I half agree with you," said Harley, smiling, "and I know that it would
be a great deal nicer for the rest of us if you and Mrs. Grayson could
go along."

He paused, and he had a sudden bold thought.

"If anything specially interesting happens that the newspapers don't
tell about, will you let me write you an account of it?" he asked. "I
should really like to tell you."

She flushed ever so little, but she was of the free-and-open West, and
Harley always gave her the impression of courteous strength--he would
take no liberties.

"You can write," she said, briefly, and then she immediately regretted
her decision. It was the thought of "King" Plummer that made her regret
it, but she had too much pride to change it now.

Harley was at the train with Mr. Grayson when she and Mrs. Grayson left,
and Sylvia found that he had seen to everything connected with their
journey. Without making any noise, and without appearing to work much,
he accomplished a good deal. She had an impulse once to thank him, but
she restrained it, and she gave him a good-bye that was neither cool nor
warm, just sufficiently conventional to leave no inference whatever. But
when the train was gone and Mr. Grayson and he were riding back in the
cab to the hotel, the candidate spoke of her.

"She's a good girl, Harley," he said--he and Harley had grown to be such
friends that he now dropped the "Mr." when he spoke directly to the
correspondent. "She's real, as true as steel."

He spoke with emphasis, but Harley said nothing.

The gr